Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,118

wondered if he was going to take her hand—but he grabbed the Jammie Dodgers instead. “I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but I’m going to say it anyway because you clearly need to hear it—and I think it might even be why you came here to talk to me. So… listen closely: It’s not your job to protect anyone, Sophie. No matter what you think—or how many abilities you have—or what plans the Black Swan had when they created Project Moonlark. The only job you have is to be Sophie Foster. And you get to decide who Sophie Foster is.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sophie said, turning back to the sunset. A sad smile curled her lips as she added, “I don’t believe you. But… thanks.”

“Anytime.” Keefe crunched on another cookie, and Sophie closed her eyes, letting everything he’d said float around her head for a few more seconds.

It sure would’ve been nice if her life really could be that simple.

But the world was far, far too complicated.

“So… how goes the memory searching?” she asked, needing to fill the silence.

He shrugged. “Nothing new so far—and nice subject change. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Sophie snatched the Jammie Dodgers away from him and pulled out another cookie, twisting the two halves slowly back and forth, determined to find a way to separate them. “What about our other project?”

Keefe’s eyebrows shot up. “If you mean the Bio-Mommy-and-Daddy Quest, I… wasn’t sure you’d be in the mood to talk about that after yesterday.”

Sophie gave her cookie another careful twist, finally feeling the stubborn jam separate. She held the two halves up triumphantly, then licked the raspberry off of her fingers. “I don’t know—I’m kinda feeling more determined than ever to find out what Mr. Forkle’s hiding from me.”

Keefe flashed his widest grin yet, leaning back and giving her several slow, proud claps. “You hear that, Ro? Our sweet little Foster’s bringing the fight to the Forklenator.”

“I like it!” Ro agreed. “Now if only she’d realize—”

“So what do you think?” Keefe jumped in, before Ro could finish that sentence. “Was Forkle telling the truth about Bronte? Or lying to throw you off track?”

“No idea,” Sophie admitted. “I mean… he seemed pretty surprised when I said it. But I guess that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

“Does that mean you still want to go ahead with the awesome-Empath-gets-all-the-answers plan?” he asked.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Sophie wondered.

Keefe smirked. “I’m also good with calling it Keefe-to-the-Rescue!—but that applies to so many things, you know? Plus, then I’d need you to start calling me your hero and swooning occasionally in my presence.”

Sophie flung half of her cookie at him, and the raspberry side splatted perfectly against his cheek, suctioning on.

“Oh, you wanna start the biscuit war, Foster?” Keefe asked, not even bothering to remove the Jammie Dodger from his face as he snatched the box of Jaffa Cakes and tore it open. “Because I can bring it.”

Sophie was tempted.

A cookie fight sounded way more fun than discussing biological-parent theories.

But she’d already lost the majority of the day to a mix of fuming and sulking and avoiding everybody.

So she set down the other half of her jam-covered weapon as a cookie surrender and caught Keefe up on what she’d discussed with the rest of her teammates—how she’d agreed to let Biana and Stina help, as well as Stina’s theory about Lady Cadence.

Keefe whistled at that last revelation. “Wow, that does kinda make sense. I don’t know how I missed her when I made my list—and if she is your bio-mom, please tell me we can dump a bunch of curdleroots on her head for lying to you.”

“I’d be good with that,” Sophie told him, needing an extra second to work up the courage to ask, “So… you have a list?”

“A short one, yeah.” He hesitated for a beat before he offered, “Want me to go get it?”

Sophie chewed her lip. “Maybe just tell me one of the names as a start?”

“Sure—though you don’t know any of them, so I’m not sure if it’ll mean a whole lot. But one of the genetic-mom options is Lady Pemberley. She’s blond and a Telepath, so it seems worth looking into. But she’s also married and has a kid, and I kinda feel like we’re looking for someone who lives alone, since they’d be putting their family in danger by getting involved in all of this.”

“Makes sense.” Sophie told herself to leave it there, but somehow she